The Works of Mrs Hemans;: With a Memoir of Her Life,

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William Blackwood & Sons, ... and Thomas Cadell, London., 1841
 

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47. oldal - No more, there is no more," he said, "to lift the sword for now; My king is false, my hope betrayed, my father — oh, the worth, The glory, and the loveliness, are passed away from earth!
123. oldal - I HEAR thee speak of the better land, Thou call'st its children a happy band ; Mother! oh, where is that radiant shore? Shall we not seek it, and weep no more? Is it where the flower of the orange blows, And the fire-flies glance through the myrtle boughs...
223. oldal - Cased in the unfeeling armour of old time, The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves. Farewell, farewell, the heart that lives alone, Housed in a dream, at distance from the kind ! Such happiness, wherever it be known, Is to be pitied ; for 'tis surely blind. But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, And frequent sights of what is to be borne ! Such sights, or worse, as are before me here. — Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.
171. oldal - Yes, tuneful is the sound That dwells in whispering boughs ; Welcome the freshness round ! And the gale that fans our brows. But rest more sweet and still Than ever nightfall gave, Our yearning hearts shall fill In the world beyond the grave. There shall no tempest blow, No scorching noontide heat; There shall be no more snow, No weary wandering feet. So we lift our trusting eyes From the hills our fathers trod, To the qniet of the skies, To the Sabbath of our God ! Street is the hour of rest!
49. oldal - To a mysteriously consorted pair This place is consecrate ; to Death and Life, And to the best affections that proceed From their conjunction ; consecrate to faith In him who bled for man upon the cross...
95. oldal - ... fairy dreams , beneath The shadowing lids to play. I come with mightier things ! Who calls me silent? — I have many tones: The dark skies thrill with low mysterious moans Borne on my sweeping wings. I waft them not alone From the deep organ of the forest shades, Or buried streams , unheard amidst their glades, Till the bright day is done. But in the human breast A thousand still small voices I awake, Strong in their sweetness from the soul to shake The mantle of its rest. I bring them from...
114. oldal - Knew'st thou with what thou art parting here, Long wouldst thou linger in doubt and fear ; Thy heart's light laughter, thy sunny hours, Thou hast left in our shades with the spring's wild flowers. " Under the arch by our mingling made, Thou and thy brother have gaily played ; Ye may meet again where ye roved of yore, But as ye have met there — oh ! never more...
123. oldal - Not there, not there, my child !" " Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise, And the date grows ripe under sunny skies ? Or 'midst the green islands of glittering seas, Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze, And strange bright birds on their starry wings, Bear the rich hues of all glorious things ?'' — " Not there, not there, my child...
225. oldal - I've seen around me fall, Like leaves in wintry weather, I feel like one Who treads alone Some banquet hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, Whose garlands dead, And all but he departed.
195. oldal - A rose's brief bright life of joy, Such unto him was given ; Go — thou must play alone, my boy! Thy brother is in heaven." "And has he left his birds and flowers; And must I call in vain? And through the long, long summer hours, Will he not come again?

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